The Judgement
by SunServer
Summary: No, of course Tritter could not forget, nor forgive. Now, he has House at his mercy again, and, in a judgement held at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, is determined to play the judge's role. Rated T for now
1. Chapter 1

A long, veery long time ago, the idea for this fic spout in my mind, but soon got a nap. Now, it's awake and has taken shape, and a feel I won't sleep until it's done. '

Set quiet a while after the Tritter Arc, this won't be a very happy, sun-bright fic. I will probably have to change the rating, because some adult themes and language might show up...But please, don't be scared! I should also warn that it strongly **might** turn to SLASH, House/Wilson, so, be warned. Flames because of this will be simply ignored.

Reviews are so, **SO **welcomed, because I'm kinda new here, and I don't know if I'm doing it right...

Thanks a lot!

* * *

The Corvette zoomed across the city streets like a shining cherry-red bullet, attracting many envious looks, but even more aggressive shouts from both drivers and pedestrians it speedily overcame. The nearly ran-over people commented with each other on the sidewalks that the Corvette's driver would probably be either drunk or a homicidal maniacal. Or he could be… 

- House – Wilson frowned slightly as the red Corvette made another abrupt curve to avoid killing an old lady, almost hitting a taxi in the process. – Before fulfilling your death wish _and_ taking me and other people with you, would you mind telling me _where the hell_ are we going?

- Don't be such a moaning boy, Wilson. - Came the sarcastic reply.-Certainly you will _not_ perish in a simple car accident. A much more horrendous death waits for you in the claws of the next ex-Mrs.Wilson.

- Thanks. – Muttered Wilson, turning to observe the outside. Suddenly, something in the exterior rang a bell in his mind, and he again turned to House. – Wait, are we going to _our_ Hospital?

- Aaaaaaaand he SCORES, ladies and gentlemen! The greeeeeat boy wonder Willllsoooooon!...Took _all_ this long for you to realize? – House smirked, a sparkle of evilness in his clear-blue eyes. – Maybe you're not that intelligent at all…Wait, have I ever said you're intelligent?

_- Very funny_. But why are you going there? The Hospital is _closed_ for massive cleaning, maintenance, reforms, inspection, that stuff, remember?

Of course House remembered, although he couldn't really understand this "massive cleaning, maintenance, reforms, inspection" process. His inner-self rolled his eyes. He _did_ understand the process for, naturally, the hospital needed all those things. However, he had never considered that it would be necessary to _close_ a Hospital and relocate all the patients to do such things.

Even Cuddy had found that weird, but the orders were from someone even the _great_ Dean of Medicine couldn't argue with.

House had to discover who this someone was. _And_ his phone number.

- So, you're going to a closed Hospital to…- Wilson's voice brought him to reality abruptly, as the Corvette approached the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

- 32 year-old male, all the exams show he was able to do such damaged to his spine that he should be tetraplegic. Exams re-done twice. –House smiled wickedly, carefully parking the beloved Corvette in Cuddy's parking space.

-You're smiling at the guy being tetraplegic??? Oh, wait, that's _you_ we are talking about.

House and his inner self both sighed in fake-disbelief, and the blue eyes shot Wilson a look that clearly said "You are the biggest moron this world have EVER seen. Have a nice day."

_- Obviously_ I'm _not_ smiling because of this. If you weren't dumb enough _and_ if you were paying _enough_ attention, you would have noticed that I said the guy _should_ be tetraplegic. Hurts my fellings that you don't pay attention to me. – House exited the car, making his best 'kicked pup' face to Wilson.

- Give it up, you are never going to be as good as Chase. So, how come the guy is _not_ tetraplegic?

- That's why Cuddy called her best doctor. To _find it out_.

- And why in our Hospital? It's _clos_-

- I don't know! Maybe it was an emergency, why should we care? – said House, a note of annoyance in his voice.

* * *

Entering the completely empty Hospital was something both House and Wilson have never experienced. The bright lights were turned off and the phone was silenced. The warm afternoon sun was still there, finding its way through the semi-drew draperies, drawing nice parallel patterns on the floor. Dusk was approaching, and the fading reddish-yellow light gave the wide corridor a distinct dreamy aura. House found all that silence weird. Day or night, there was always someone there: nurses, doctors, parents, family…Now, even the noise of the cardiac-monitors was absent. 

- Remind me again _why_ you brought me with you? Why haven't you called your ducklings? – Wilson asked, starting to walk to House's office.

- Well, I was actually scared with the possibility that Cuddy only called me here to reveal her secret alien-cannibal identity and _eat_ me alive. So, I brought you with me to make her eat _you_ instead of me, so I could escape alive. She wouldn't accept any of my team, they are too low-quality articles.

_- __Ha ha_, House.

- Come on, Jimmy, a guy with a broken spine _walking, moving_? We _gotta_ see that!- House replied in a high girlish voice, making Wilson laugh. The sound echoed strangely. – Oh, but _this_ is a treasure…

With a gracious movement, Wilson looked to where House was pointing. Cuddy's office.

Unlocked.

Opened.

Empty.

- Where is she? – The oncologist asked, looking concerned.

- And _who does care_?. Maybe in my office or looking after the non-sick guy. – The expression in House's face was similar to the one a boy would have if his parents told him he could eat and do what he wanted for all his life.- Come, we're going in.

_- No, no, no_!We-are-going-to-see-the-guy.

- You can go ahead, you coward. I'm going to discover all the unspoken secrets and treasures hidden in the lion's cave.

- Lion's _Den_. – Wilson corrected, leaving to House's office.

- Whatever religious geographic rock shape.

The sound of the oncologist's footsteps were getting weaker, weaker…And, all of a sudden, stopped.

House, his hand already placed on the glass door that allowed him to enter Cuddy's office, turned to see what had caused Wilson to stop so unexpectedly.

There was _no_ Wilson there. The corridor was empty.

-Wilson, you loser, there's _no way_ I'm getting scared with this…-House said, walking slowly towards the smaller corridor that would lead him to his office. The red light of dusk turned his blue eyes into an odd shade of liquid amber for a moment, and then started to gradually fade into an icy night-blue.

When he reached the smaller corridor, he could see that his office's lights were turned on, welcoming light passing through the draperies and splashing across the gloomy floor. He walked faster, his interest in the not-tetraplegic guy renewed. He pushed the glass door…

Oh, he found Wilson. And Cuddy. _And_ Chase _and_ Foreman. _And_ an unknown guy.

And three guns.

-Good evening, Doctor House.

And Tritter.

_Shit_.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi!

First, I would like to thank Any, who has kindly reviewed this fic! Thank you **SO** much, it means so much for a new author!

Second, I would like to say that this chapter contains improper language, so, please, if you're offended by that, don't read.

Thirdly, I have to say that Reviews are like chocolate! PLEASE, feed a starving author.

Now for the fic.

* * *

House could have sworn time _stopped_ while he scanned his office. 

Icy, death-grip fingers closed around his heart when his eyes met Tritter's frosty blue ones, and he could feel cold numbness running through his veins like frozen blood when he saw the cop's wicked smile, yellowed teeth showing Tritter was again prisoner of the cigarettes. But it was not only that cruel smile that told House he was surely going to have problems.

The pistol Tritter was holding reinforced that message.

But that wasn't the _only_ problem.

Tied firmly to a chair on the side of his glass table, Cuddy stared at him behind a dishevelled lock of raven hair with red, tear-filled eyes; a narrow, watery patch was already forming through her pale cheek. The paleness, combined with her extremely tense body language, told House she was soon going to pass out. As he locked eyes with her, an expression of both guilty and desperation crossed her emaciated face, her breath growing faster as her reddened lips opened partially to, repeatedly, form the words '_I'm sorry'_ .

When the vague idea of answering her crossed his mind, a sudden gold flick of light caught his attention, making House move his eyes away from Cuddy's. The sun-kissed hair reflecting the light belonged to Chase, who was chained tightly to one the table legs, his clear cerulean eyes focused heavily on the floor. His inner self said something about Chase always resembling a kicked puppy, but House paid no attention to that: he was eyeing the man next to the wall, also chained to a table leg. Foreman. Like Chase, his dark eyes were fixed on the floor, and House watched a trickle of blood running down his mouth, falling as red teardrops on his white shirt. Neither of them looked up at House, and the diagnostician could not blame them.

A tall, large man was holding their heads down with pistols. His dark-green eyes shone with a maniacal fire while looking at House.

_Fuck._

He knew that guy.

He was a patient House treated previously while he was forcefully during his clinic duty. A marathon of _General Hospital _was on TV. House _really_ wanted to _watch_ it, and, in the process, he was being successful in breaking his own record of "being-an-ass-to all –patients-in-order-to-get-rid-of-them". The guy was a boring case of bipolar disorder, and he remembered being extremely rude with the man as sending him to psychiatry.

_Oh my…_

Each systole-diastole sent painful ice-blood through his body, making his eardrums throb faintly, filling his mind with a low zooming noise. His body was engulfed with numbness.

Something strange was happening. Everything seemed so _unreal_, like covered by a thin dreamy haze…House could barely see Tritter's smile getting bigger…

- House…

Wilson's weak voice blasted through the haze like a projectile, dissipating it.

Time returned to normal, and he could almost feel the soft ticking of all the Hospital clocks. Full consciousness hit House hard, making him blink several times. He focused Wilson, handcuffed to the chair behind the glass table. The oncologist appeared to be mildly disoriented, his breath a little shallow, like someone who had been hit in the head.

Seeing Wilson like that pulled a trigger in House's heart, and, abruptly, the image of Cuddy's tears and the defeated looks on his team members eyes turned the icy blood that was flowing through his body into a boiling fiery rage. He just _needed _to hurt Tritter. Badly. He forgot for a moment the facts that he was crippled, Tritter was taller _and _had a gun. Adrenalin turned pain in his thigh into nothing, and the cane in his hand was now a weapon.

- You son a bitch…YOU SON OF A BITCH! – House barked, breathing fast.

- Hush, Doc. – Tritter smiled. - We are in a Hospital. Shouting is not allowed here, even for the great Doctor House. You surely wouldn't want to go to jail, would you?

- Ah, so _this_ is what this mess is all about. – House retorted, his voice growing louder.- The _tiny petty ugly_ cop couldn't be _big and strong_ enough to arrest me with legal proceedings, so now he will hunt the people around me in order to _force_ me to surrender? Grow up and be a _man_, little germ.

- It's interesting that _you_, Doc, a man who thinks that the talent in discovering diseases makes him God, is talking to me about being an adult. – The cop was still smiling, apparently indifferent to House's rage. - Well, since you are not interested in what I have to say to you, you may go, Doc. Go to the other cops. The police. Tell them what's going on here.

- We just won't guarantee all your friends will be here when you arrive back, if you know what I mean. – The man holding the two pistols said to House in a low, sarcastic voice.

- You wouldn't _do_ that.- House spitted, fiery rage mixing with cold fear, still looking at Tritter.- _Tiny ugly _cop would pee on his diapers like the big and fat moaning baby he is before having the _gut-_

- Really, doctor House? Maybe my friend Tritter wouldn't do it, but _I…-_Dark-green eyes pierced blue ones.- _I _would be _pleasured_ to do that.- The black pistol dived more into Chase's hair, making him whimper.

- And imagine _if-_ Tritter stepped dangerously closer to House. – _accidentally_, a bullet hit the pretty face of Doctor Chase…Or those dreamy eyes of Doctor Cuddy…_Imagine if_ – Tritter was so close that House could see his own reflection in the cop's pupils.- someone shoots Doctor Wilson's leg and make him a miserable cripple…

_No._

_Fuck **no**_.

- What do you want? – House manage to whisper, fear dominating rage.

- A judgement, Doc. A real one. Not that bullshit we played last time. See, you have your lawyers –he waved at Cuddy, Wilson, Chase and Foreman.- and the prosecutors. – Obviously himself and the other guy.

- And who is going to be the judge? – House asked, as he tried to rescue some dignity. - The Calabar bean? (1)

Tritter chuckled softly, getting away from House and grasping a chair, positioning it in a way that it was facing House's glass table, but making sure the chair was four or five feet away from it. It was a strategic position: sitting there, Tritter could not only see all the people in the office, but also make sure he could perfectly aim his pistol at them.

- Pop a Vicodin or two, Doc. You'll need it.- Tritter said while sitting, with a fake-kind smile.

When House's mind started shouting for him _not_ to obey Tritter, his hand was already inside his pocket, retrieving the plastic orange cylinder. _Surely_, he told his angry inner-self, he would not manage to fight anyone in pain. _Especially_ Tritter. He swallowed two white pills.

And waited.

And waited more.

The pills were already kicking in, but Tritter only smiled, lost in thoughts. No one was speaking.

- So…- House began, in a low voice. – What now?

Tritter looked at him, the mockery-kind smile turning into a cruel, almost maniacal one.

-_ Kneel,_ Doctor House.

* * *

Authors Note: (1) The Calabar bean is mentioned by Agatha Christie in her "Curtain". In the book, the detective Poirot says that the Calabar Bean determines who is guilty and who is innocent, and the guilty person ends swallowing the toxic bean, ending dead. It is not a very good explanation, but you can always google it for some more information. 


	3. Chapter 3

First, as always, my many, many **THANKS** to **BSEVER**, **Any **and**Boys Don't Cry** for revieweing this fic. You can't imagine how much it means to me. You're all dear to my heart.

**Special** thanks to **SJ-88** and **leana9101** for adding this fic to their favorites! I can't describe the emoction when I saw it (ok, I'm soft...). **Special **thanks also to **gh2005**, I'll start using your tip.

And all the readers, even if you don't review, keep with me and the fic.

Of course, if you don't review, I'll bite your noses. Mwuahuahua.

Now for the fic.

_

* * *

Bip._

An awful, pitiless smile; black pistol digging into blond hair, dark bloody patterns in a white shirt; Wilson's voice and Cuddy whispering_…_

'Kneel, Doctor House.'

_Bip._

Cold blue eyes shining with madness, thirsty for revenge.

His heart twitching in a slow, painfully pace in his chest.

_Bip. _

House felt a particularly cold, sharp ice-cube slide down his throat directly to the bottom of his stomach. The cube melted into bitter fear as he gazed at Tritter, a great part of his mind desperately hoping the cop would burst out laughing any second, saying it was all a well-planed joke. When that didn't happen, House's icy blue eyes instinctually searched the office, looking for support, for _help,_ but finding none. Awareness crept gradually inside his mind.

He was _alone_ in that one.

No Wilson, no Cuddy, real lawyers or ducklings. His heartbeats increased all of a sudden with that reflection, and now his heart bounced agonizingly fast, filling his head with the noise of a cardiac-monitor, torrents of loud _bips _hurting his eardrums. He could also feel drops of cold sweat travelling along his neck.

"Hey, Doc, no smart-ass replies?" Tritter's sarcastic voice reached House. "_What_, cat got your tongue? Well, it doesn't really matter: all you have to do is kneeling."

"You know I am _tempted_ to play the God-Slave and all the BDSM games with you, but my criminal record _and_ my leg say that I shouldn't play _that _with cops…"

The answer erupted of the diagnostician mouth in a small tone, dreadful tone. The joke was unexpected too, and House deadly wished his ironic remarks weren't already part of his autonomous system. He wished they could be controlled.

"You can't kneel?" asked Tritter in a fake-concerned voice as he stood up, staring at House with a worried look. His closeness made the diagnostician's stomach tight alarmingly.

In fact, House _could _kneel. Not without feeling a faint throbbing pain in his thigh, but he could do it perfectly. But just the _tiniest_, _remotely_ _vague_ idea of submissively kneeling in front of not just Tritter, but five other people, was almost unbearable. His inner self shouted with indignation. Besides, in a kneeling position, his head was going to be more exposed, what increased the chances of real damaged if he got hurt.

'_But_' a Wilson-shaped thought crossed his mind. '_If you do what Tritter asks, maybe, just maybe, he will be nicer to the others. Remember that there are other human beings here, and one more stupid comment of yours can blow their brains out_.'

His inner Wilson was still talking when a hand patted House's shoulder, and brought him abruptly to reality again.

"Hey, Doc, I'm talking to you. You can't kneel, uh?"

House nodded, mouth going dry as Tritter's cold hand reached his neck. His thoughts were silenced. Renewed fear began compressing his lungs.

"Well, I'll fix that for you, Doc."

The blow came hard, _oh so fucking hard_, and pain spread speedily through his entire body like _damn, so_ _fucking damn oxygen_. His own yell reached his ears, altogether with someone's maniacal laugh and his name being shouted by many, many voices... Pain blinded him for a moment, brutal white light filling his vision while he hit the floor with a hard, loud noise; he couldn't breathe, _shit, he_ _couldn't breathe,_ it was like his lungs had failed. He felt that his pounding heart was transferred to his twitching thigh, each spasm sending _pain, fucking Hell's pain,_ to his whole body, and he wished hard, he _prayed_ that Death would come and take him…

* * *

He stayed like that on the floor for a while, like a broken toy, until strong hands dragged him in a kneeling position. 

"You'd better keep that position, Doc, or I'll be forced to hit your thigh again."

House forced himself to breath, reorganizing himself mentally: first step, breath; second step, keep breathing; third step…

_Maintain position_.

"You _monster…_" he heard Foreman saying as Tritter seated again.

Pain's haze dissipated a little, and House's vision returned, though he wished it didn't. He could now see the saddened, shocked expression in _their_ eyes, and he felt more than humiliated: he felt that, somehow, he had disappointed them. The diagnostician lowered his aching head.

He also noticed he was now on the side of Tritter's chair.

"Now that Doctor House has kindly settled himself, we can start our judgement. First, I would like to present you our defendant, Doctor Gregory House."

Tritter's chair was an armless one, and he had no difficulty putting his index finger under House's chin, lifting his head. The doctor had to master himself to be steady, since Tritter's touch made him want to jerk away and puke. The bipolar man smirked, green eyes noticing House's shame.

"His lawyers are Doctor Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine at the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital; James Wilson, head of Oncology at the same Hospital; Erik Foreman and Robert Chase, doctors at the same Hospital. His prosecutors are Michael Tritter, cop/detective, and Net Callong, teacher. Doctor House is accused of being unethical, irresponsible, arrogant and, mainly, he is accused of not exercising properly his profession. If declared guilty, Doctor House will _suffer_" the word escaped from Tritter's lips with a note of cruelty "the consequences."

House's mind was almost back to normal when Tritter stopped talking, and pain was beginning to get manageable. He wished his Vicondin hadn't fallen from his pocket, and now rested inside Tritter's…

Out of the blue, a hand began stroking his hair slowly, tracing soft, almost tender patterns in his scalp. The pain dimmed for a moment, and he nearly leaned into the caress, until his mind screamed that it was _Tritter's _hand doing that.

"I'm not your pet" House hissed courageously, but the memory of the early pain made him regret it.

"Right now, you are what I _say _you are. And behave, Doc, or I'll start calling you _my little pet_." The cop whispered back, his finger tugging more forcefully House's hair. "Doctor Cuddy."

Cuddy's red eyes shone with rage as she looked at Tritter, but she remained silent.

"The judgement started. Defend him."


	4. Chapter 4

Oh, I'm so glad! This fic reached 15 reviews till now. I really didn't think I could make it.

As usual, my deepest THANKS to **RedMist1**, **gh2005**, **SJ-88**, **SnowFox3**, **Boys Don't Cry**, **BSEVER**, **leana9101** and **Any**! You all live in my heart. Keep reviewing!

As for the other readers, please keep with the fic, and review, or I'll bite your hands, and I'm contagious.

Now for the fic.

* * *

House knew that, if he depended on Cuddy's speech, he was a dead man. 

He could not blame her, though. Being Dean of Medicine, she was certainly used to dealing with hot-tempered, arrogant bastards like House himself, but he doubted Cuddy had ever dealed with _armed_ bastards. He watched her tearful eyes widen when Tritter spoke to her, face turning so pale that it seemed it was made from marble. The cop chuckled softly when her mouth opened and closed several times as she tried hard to bring herself to speak, but only a strange grunted sound came from her throat. House lowered his head once more, shifting slightly; he knew he wouldn't hold longer in that position if those painful tiny jolts kept coming from his thigh. Outside, night had already covered the sky with a dark, starless veil.

"Dr. Cuddy, I _assume _you know what will happen for Doctor House if you don't play the game correctly." said the cop in a dangerous, bitter-sweet voice, like talking to a nine year-old. 'You _bastard_', House's mind started to whimper weakly, 'a _scum _like you shouldn't be allowed to talk to her, shouldn't be allowed to _live_, shouldn't be-'

The touch of the pistol's cold tip against his temple silenced the thoughts, along with Tritter's chin resting in his shoulder.White-blond hair scrapped his skin lightly. House's breathe in caught in his throat.

The diagnostician didn't dare to move his head any longer, for every subtle shift would make him _feel _bothTritter's skin and the pistol. Cuddy's ragged breathing still reached his ears, however, and he could almost sense her desperation in each noisy, difficult exhalation. That is not good, the doctor in him alerted, she is having a panic attack: the next stage will be trembling, tachycardia and, depending on her panic level, even a cardiac arrest. _Damn_, he heard his inner-Wilson saying, things could get really complicated if that happened. House tried to suppress the thought.

Tritter sniggered, eyes still locked on Cuddy, and his breath touched House's sensitive neck skin, filling him with a nauseating sensation.

"You are so _screwed, _Doc…" he murmured into the shell of House's ear, lips touching the soft flesh of his earlobe. The pistol went down his fave, stopping to caress the House's cheek. The doctor's heart ached sharply, skin burning as Tritter stroked him. "I wouldn't want to be in your skin."

_Bip. _The pistol reached his jugular.

"H-House" an unstable, fearful female voice reached their ears. Pause. Ragged breathing. All eyes turned to her, and Tritter gave a satisfied nod, moving away from House. "Doc-Doctor Gregory H-House is one of our best doctors. He is the head of Diagnostic Medicine, and only last year he saved…"

_Fuck._

Desperation filled House's heart; he felt an acid-strange throbbing sensation below his eyes and nose, and the floor began to blur a bit as _tears, shit, __**tears **_blocked his vision. Tritter had heard that speech before, all the House-save-lives-no-one-would bullshit, and he wouldn't accept it, he never did. Cuddy knew that too, but she kept talking, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, and every second her voice shook more and more as she tried to defend him. Without any success, of course. Torrents of sob-shaped words escaped her mouth as Tritter calmly ignored her nervouness.

House gave up listening. His fate was sealed and his head ached so much, _so damn_ _much_…Tritter was still petting his hair, and, for a moment, it reminded him of his mother, Blythe House. An indistinct shade of memory took control of his mind, her long fingers soothing him, lulling him into sleep after she rescued her son from the ice baths. House leaned into her warm, imaginary embrace, resting his tired head on her shoulder, dearly wishing that his leg wasn't complaining so much… From the outside, Cuddy's voice still reached him, but he could only understand a few words and phrases.

He heard many names, and recognized some: all patients he treated previously, all saved. He was vaguely aware of how the emotion in Cuddy's voice grew as she commented about the many phone calls she received from patients cured by House, all thanking him. _That_ dragged him a little from the memory fog, his curiosity awakening, sniffing the air, interested. However, his mother's embrace was so warm and cozy, so full of kindness, that he tossed his curiosity aside and rested again on her shoulder...

"Hey, Doc, you can't sleep now. You have to watch your own judgement."

_Pop_. Blythe House disappeared, and so did her soft lullaby.

Cuddy's sobs grew louder and filled House's eardrums, and he realized, horrified, that his head was resting in Tritter's _thigh, fuck_, like he was a wounded puppy, like a _whore, _like a _fucking DAMN slave, _his mind screamed. Damn, damn, damn! The diagnostician tried to back, disgusted, but Tritter just laughed loud, grasping House's hair hard to maintain him from moving.

"Stay like that, Doc. You're cute all that submissively." That earned him a struggling House that was silenced with a hardened grip.

"Dr. Cuddy" the cop continued, petting House again. Sobs were his only answer. "I assume you know who Jen Mackloy, 27-year-old teacher, is?"

More sobs as Cuddy nodded, and House tried not to meet her red, tearful gaze.

"You are aware, Doctor Cuddy, that she was treated by Doctor House?"

More sobs, more nodding.

"Did you know, doctor Cuddy…" Tritter's fingers moved to caress House's cheek, stubble jaw tickling his fingertips. "That Jen Mackloy committed suicide after being treated by Doctor House?"

The sobs stopped. House risked looking up, and he saw Cuddy's shocked expression.

"Do you know, doctor, _why_ she did such thing?"

"You cannot be possibly implying that _Doctor Hous-_"

"Here, doctor Cuddy," the cop interrupted, retrieving a small black tape from his pocket and placing it in a small, old radio that clearly didn't belong to House. "is a tape which contains and interview I did with Jen's mother. I would like you to hear it."

_

* * *

_

_Play._

A sobbing woman's voice, so like Cuddy's, filled the air.

"_My poor little baby, my poor Jen, she was so happy, so happy…"_

"_And what happened to her, Mrs. Mackloy?" _Tritter's voice asked.

Someone crying desperately hard.

"_D-doc-doc-doctor House s-said she was so st-stupid, so idiot because she lied to him, she didn't deserve li-living…She got depressed thinking about her disease, he had hu-hurt her so much, so much… Then one day I arrived home and she had…She had, oh my Good Lord…Blood everywhere, my poor baby.."_

_Stop._

* * *

A palpable silence descend upon the office. House's stomach twisted inside him. Cuddy seemed horrified. 

"And there's more, doctor. Lots and lots of them: suicidal, depressed, homicide. Jen Mackloy, Serena Timbers, Mark Holinh, Peter Skantinocht…" the maniacal spark returned to Tritter's eyes. "…and your cousin, Lindsay Cuddy. Yes" he continued, as both House and Cuddy looked at him, stunned. "your aunt confessed to me that you admitted Lindsay in this Hospital, under the name of Lindsay Whity, and that she was treated by a certain Gregory House. In the end, she had AIDS, am I right? And she passed away three months later. Nasty death…Suicidal."

"Lindsay's death had nothing to do with House. He diagnosed her right." Cuddy began in a low, venomous voice. Her jaw clenched, as if she was holding herself not to explode.

"Nope. There's an interview here with your aunt. Surprisingly, she says that Doctor House scared Lindsay so much about the disease that she chose to kill herself. Sad, isn't it? Maybe he was out of Vicondin. Who knows…? But that is not interesting now…"

The cop stood up and walked in front of Cuddy, dragging House with him, still in a kneeling position. The doctor screamed as his leg twitched, mad thoughts running through his mind, _this can't be real, please, make it a dream, a bad dream…_ An excruciating firm grip in his hair lifted his head.

"Ashamed, Doc?" House refused to look at him. "I though so. Doctor Cuddy, I, Michael Tritter, refuse to accept your arguments. You were overruled."

House frowned, confuse, as Tritter untied one of Cuddy's hand. Was he freeing her? Had she played her role correctly, and now he was letting her go?

The cop held Cuddy's hand delicately in front of House's frosty blue eyes. She was trembling, swollen indigo eyes fixed in Tritter. Her fast, loud breathing ached in House's eardrums.

"Doctor House, you behaved yourself during the first part of this judgement. _Good boy._" Tritter sneered. "As a reward, you can make an option: you can have your Vicondin again."

House's eyes flickered upwards, shining frantically. _Vicondin._

"You can sit and make yourself comfortable. You can even have your cane back."

_His dignity back._

"_But_"

No, there was no "but" for him now. _Vicondin. _

"Do you see this knife here?" House saw, wondering where it had come from. Was the pain already destroying his perception? "Well, if you choose to be comfortable, I'll have to rip her nails out. _One by one_."

_Nails can grow again. _

_Vicondin. _

_A chair. Not kneeling. Tritter would not be able to caress him if he was sitting. _

_Cuddy. Vicondin._

"So, Doc, what do you choose?"


	5. Chapter 5

Well, firstly, I'm so SORRY! Really, I didn't see that I've written 'Vicodin' wrong! I wanted to commit suicide, but I couldn't bring myself to do that... i.i I'm really, really sorry, you can hit me. I'll behave now. Oh, but some say it's 'Vicoden', others say it's 'Vicodin'...I'll just write 'Vicodin', OK? But I'm truly sorry.

Secondly, my usual **THANKS A LOT** to the dearests: **Boys Don't Cry**, **Any**, **gh2005**, **BSEVER**, **C Elise**, **momsboys**, **SJ-88**, **leana9101** and **RedMist1**!

Thirdly, my "**WOW THANKS SO MUCH**" to **SnowFox3**, because your review was...Well, I can't find words to describe it. Let's just say I kept reading it for, what, a whole day?

As usual, keep with me me and the fic, and review, or I'll put you there with Tritter.

Now for the fic.

* * *

It seemed a very, _very_ easy choice. 

Yes, Cuddy would be in pain. Lots and lots of outrageous pain to be precise, but hadn't he endured much worse? She would _survive,_ his inner self yelled,she would be _alright _after some time, her nails would grow again, strong and pinky like they have always been. _He_, on the other hand, was surely going to die soon if he didn't take those snow-white pills, for the jolts of flaming pain coming from his leg would burn his heart, his brain, his entire body.

While he stared at her trembling hand, part of House half expected to see a film flashing in front of his eyes, waited for loads of images showing Cuddy saving, supporting, _defending_ him to fill his brain, but _nothing_ like that happened. All cells in his body told him that choosing his dignity and Vicodin was the right thing to do. He lifted his head a little, carefully watching Cuddy's face.

Her eyes softened a little when she met his gaze; she lowered her eyelids a little in an almost comforting way, and a tiny part of his mind was once again surprised with her power of eye-communication. _I understand what you'll do_, was her unspoken message, _so go ahead_. Once again defending you, his inner Wilson said, and that thought touched a forgotten obscure nerve inside his chest. The diagnostician swiftly suppressed his sobbing inner Wilson.

Cuddy took a deep breath, anticipating the pain. House opened his mouth.

No sound came from his throat.

Frowning a little, he tried again; it was so _simple_, he knew what to say, he knew how to say, he knew everything, _Hell, HE KNEW_! Fury and frustration grew inside his heart, but he couldn't just find his voice, couldn't bring himself to say _Vicodin_ and seal Cuddy's fate. He tried two, three, _five_ times, forcing his mind to focus on white pills, canes and comfortable chairs, but his deceitful vocal cords refused to cooperate. His inner self screamed irately at him, but he simply couldn't do it, _fuck, couldn't do it_…

"Leave her alone." He heard his own treacherous voice, and all thoughts stopped all of a sudden. All _movements_ stopped all of a sudden. Even his leg got blissfully numb.

He hadn't meant to say that. The idea of brain or nerve damage travelled across his mind, because he had meant to say _Vicodin,_ not those words. Tritter looked at him, and House didn't notice the mildly surprised expression crossing the cop's features. The doctor was still contemplating the stunning fact that his mouth and voice had acted on their own accord, transmitting a totally different message from the one his brain had.

A sharp noise caught House's attention, and the diagnostician saw Tritter retrieving the knife and tying Cuddy's hand again. Cold awareness washed over him once more, the throbbing pain in his thigh coming back with full force; strong hands grabbed his shirt and dragged him, making him flinch, and soon he was on the side of Tritter's chair.

"Well, Doc" the cop sat, straitening his tie. "I really should tell you I'm kind of impressed with you."

House carefully rolled his eyes under his closed eyelids. People always got impressed with his actions, especially with the good ones.

Aching fire was already melting his lower body.

"Doctor Foreman, please." Tritter continued, eyeing Foreman with a hint of interest in his pupils. "You're the next to defend our Doc here, and you'll do it in a second. But first…" a gentle tug in House's hair made the doctor raise his head a little. Tritter inclined himself to one side, pulling a large white box across the carpet, and placing it in front of his chair "…do you know what it is, Doc?" the cop asked, pointing to the box.

House's mind quickly established the connections.

"It's a cool box" he answered, maintaining his voice carefully neutral and refraining himself from spitting the words.

"Good. And do you know what's inside this cool box?"

House's body stiffened with fear.

"Ice." he whispered, while his brain dissolved inside his skull. For the second time, his childhood memories flooded deep into his soul.

_Father_.

"I heard you don't like ice, Doc" Tritter said in a sugary, almost sing-song voice as his fingers reached the receptacle's lid. "I can't image why. Such beautiful things, the ice cubes…" he continued, retrieving a huge icy cube from the box. Wilson shouted something, but Callong silenced him with a look. "Doctor Foreman, please start your speech."

House followed Tritter's hand, eyes hypnotised by the transparent, already-melting form trapped into the cop's fingertips, and his heart skipped a beat; he was still conscious, he was still able to see Tritter hand, but, unexpectedly, John House was beside him, bitter eyes showing so much disgust, so much _hate_, that House wished he had been aborted, dreadfully wished he was _dead_, resting peacefully in his grave…Something tugged his collar, and without warning, a razor-sharp pain crossed his back, like a knife cutting trough skin and bone; _fuck, fuck FUCK_!!!He shut his eyes while his body contorted and his mind screamed loudly as coldness crept inside him, _FUCK,_ coldness took control of him, _shit, SHIT-_

"Oh, why are you moaning?" He was not sure if it was his father or Tritter speaking, and Wilson's voice reached him in formless words. "Don't be such a weak shit."

A handful of melted ice and freezing water washed half his senses away, frosty water penetrating his pores, and he couldn't cry, _he couldn't fucking cry_, or else things would get bad, really bad. He clenched his jaw tight, attempting to stop his chattering teeth; House breathed even harder, because cold was slowly possessing his lungs, turning air into ice. Chilly blood was making his leg pain unbearable and, for the first time, he wished he had cut that leg. The cubes slithered on his skin, wetting his clothes, his hair, finding its ways through his arteries and veins. John House was still looking at him from Tritter's eyes.

* * *

Foreman's speech was about pain. House's pain. The diagnostician could still distinguish his words, but the ice made everything so…blurred? Could spoken words get _blurred_? 

He didn't fail, though, to notice the explicit hatred in his employee's tone. Some small, untouched part of him was even a little proud as Foreman described the pain House felt with such precise, rich words. The neurologist _spoke_ like him, House observed, his tone floating through sarcasm, aggressiveness and pure hate. When Foreman finished talking about the Hell his boss daily endured because his leg, House could fully see himself in the neurologist form, the thought surprisingly making the pain faintly better.

"Good, Doctor Foreman, good." Nodded Tritter when Foreman finished. "Very good indeed. Pain. Let me tell you a little story of my childhood."

The cop stood up slowly, a predatory glint in his eyes.

"When I was about eleven years old, my mother was informed that my older sister had trigeminal neuralgia (1), and you surely know what it is." Foreman stiffened as Tritter knelt next to him. "It was a very rare case, since she was only fourteen…But all her symptoms made clear it was that disease. Surgery and most of the medication were too expensive for us to buy. Shortly after her diagnose, my 20 year-old brother was diagnosed as having Fibromyalgia. Again, no money to buy medication, but my parents fought to give them at least some of the drugs they needed."

The cop paused. House could only see his back now.

"The doctors said my sister's pain was worse, much worse, but it was my brother who got into heroin, and _he was not_ depressed when he started with the drug, so don't get me that excuse. He destroyed himself with heroin, starting to sell both his and my sister's medication to get his drugs. Said that it make him fell _good_, doesn't _that_ remember you of a certain Doctor? And my sister, my innocent sister, did she complain?"

Tritter's voice lowered to a maniacal whisper, phrases shuffling with his ragged breathing, hands closing into fists.

"_No_, Doctor Foreman, she did not. My teenage sister, who had what you call the 'suicide disease', didn't complain. _No drugs for her_. She faced pain like an adult, like a noble woman. Even when my brother stole her medication, she didn't complain about the pain, didn't do drugs, and she _had_ pain, I could see, I could _feel_." The cop was breathing fast, making the neurologist shift uncomfortably with his proximity. "So, Doctor, your little talking about House's pain does not convince me. _You were overruled_."

Still breathing abnormally fast, Tritter turned to face House, and the doctor was sure the cop could see his brother's face in House's. His leg twitched excruciatingly, and, to stop a scream, House bit his lip; it was hard enough to draw blood, and the warm fluid dripped unhurriedly to the floor.

The cop took another ice cube from the cooler, closing the distance between him and House. The diagnostician felt a freezing sensation hit his sore lip, and Tritter's wet thumb wiped the blood away.

"You have one more decision to make." Tritter murmured, still pressing the ice cube to House's lips. "Your friends should be hungry, thirsty and very tired. If you choose them, I can provide them food, coffee, and they can rest for one hour. If you choose yourself, though, you can have _two_ pills, and I'll stop with the ice. You'll continue in that position, and you'll be like that through the rest of your judgement. What do you say?"

House looked up. Indeed, Cuddy seemed exhausted, and so did Foreman, Wilson and Chase. Tritter retrieved the orange plastic cylinder.

_I'm sorry._

"Give me the pills." He whispered back.

_Weak._

_Weak__ shit_, hissed John House with Tritter's sharp voice. _You deceitful weak shit._

"Doctor Chase, you're the next."

* * *

A/N: (1) I cannot say much about 'Trigeminal neuralgia', but everyone says it is the worst pain a person can feel. There's a very interesting article in Wikipedia about it. 


	6. Chapter 6

Firstly, my most truly **THANKS **to all people that wished me good lucky in university! Yes, I'm now an officially House wannabe, because I'll go to Med school! Yeah! Oh, and I'm on vacation now, so **I won't be able to answer you reviews**...But when I come back, **I will**!

Secondly, the usual **THANKS A LOT **to **leana9101**, **BSEVER**, **Boys Don't Cry**, **santoryuu-zoro**, **momsboys**, **Any**, **RedMist1** and the wonderful **SJ-88**! Really, when this fic reaches its end, I'll make you a surprise! But I missed some of my usual reviewers...Where are you? i.i

Thirdly, to my dearest **SnowFox3** I simply don't have words to describe how each of your reviews make me feel. You know what this feeling is. **SPECIAL 'THANK YOU'**

Finally, everybody, keep with the fic! I know you don't like Tritter, but...keep with House and the others! And **REVIEW**, or **I'll beat you! (bad writer)**

* * *

From the moment Chase raised his head, House placed him in Cuddy's group. 

The young doctor lacked two things that were mildly present in Cuddy's spirit, but almost permeated the souls of both Foreman and House: one was the capacity of raising enormous fortresses of steel walls around his feelings and the other was creating a capable army of snide remarks to defend it. Nor he had Wilson's ability of, when _really_ necessary, creating those cold, emotionless masks that had fooled even House in one or two occasions. The Australian tried to use those skills, of course, he tried _very_ _hard_, but the spark of desperation filling his eyes as he stared at Tritter was so stupidly obvious that the attempt could only be classified as 'pathetic'. He was positively the most affected by the whole situation.

But those weren't the criteria that put Chase in Cuddy's group.

Like Cuddy, he was so pale he looked like a corpse. Like Cuddy, Chase was having a hard time finding his voice.

Like Cuddy, his speech was going to be disaster to House.

Not that Foreman's speech made House's situation better. Factually, it had made things _worse_. Not because it awakened the _history_ of Tritter's brother; House had already figured the cop would have something like that in his past from the moment the cop's 'drug-paranoia' revealed itself. Foreman words screwed up when they awakened the feeling, the _fury _Tritter held inside him, an anger that became stronger when the ghosts of his siblings floated around him once again, and his brother's spectre took House's shape. More than bringing old facts to life, the neurologist's monologue did to Tritter exactly what ice did to House. It brought old _feelings_ to life.

But, and House attributed that thought to his inner-Wilson, Foreman's monologue made things vaguely better. The way Foreman spoke, the way he moved his eyes, the expression in his face, all reflected House. It was like looking into a very unusual mirror, a mirror where his actions and gestures were reflected. A distorted form that strongly resembled an inner-Cameron said the sensation was probably the way a nice father contemplated his son, but House immediately slashed the thought. It was _not_ like that, because he was incapable of having things such as _fatherly feelings._ It was just… Seeing himself in another human being proved House he had been important enough to influence someone. Proved House he was more than a _little shit_, and his father's presence dimmed faintly.

That didn't occur with Chase. In fact, the fear in Chase's eyes reminded the diagnostician of how _he _might have looked when John House was around.

* * *

A sudden tiredness heaved House's eyelids, descending upon him shaped as a wave, as Chase still tried to speak. Lack of adrenalin, the doctor in him said. It engulfed his entire body all of a sudden, carefully avoiding his leg. The two promised pills lessened the unbearable pain, but still his thigh burned into Hell's fire, though the rest of House' body was freezing; all the ice-cubes had already melted, soaking his clothes and hair. It was very peculiar, House thought bitterly, that his heart pumped ice through his veins and that ice turned into lava when it reached his thigh.

When hunger hit him, House was feeling so exhausted that leaning against Tritter's leg wasn't a shame anymore. His heart twisted painfully as he wished, full of sour shame, that Tritter would caress him again, making him remember his mother. He just wanted Blythe House there again, and something inside him _ached_ to think about her. He wondered about time, but even his thinking was tiring him; his chest was starting to hurt too,

Dark anxiety filled his mind: _pain_, he panicked, _pain was going to kill him soon or later_, pain was going to mutilate him, pain was going to _rip_ him to shreds, he could already see its dirty claws-

"Bad dreams, Doc? You wouldn't want to scare our mortified Doctor Chase even more, would you?"

House blinked.

That was no good. He had fallen asleep.

And Tritter didn't like it.

Dangerous sweetness made the cop smile again as he patted House's shoulder.

"I believe I've told you that you couldn't sleep, Doc…" Tritter's palm carefully travelled across House's wet t-shirt, descending to his leg and stopping when it felt the pulsating flesh of his thigh. His large hand gently rested against the damaged muscle. Could he feel the fire radiating from there?

"And what do you do when someone disobey you?"

The poisoned honey in Tritter's expression told House he was _fucked_, and so did the hand gently caressing his leg.

_Pain_, there was going to be pain again, and he was already so tired, so _fucking tired…_House wanted to cry, but he lacked strength. His body was already deteriorating: his mind and chest were empty, his bones were dissolving, and yet his muscles stiffened. His internal cardiac monitor showed nothing but a cold flat line, the soft _bips_ had disappeared. However, _something_ slinked across his back, climbing his spinal cord, something that felt like a grimy touch of rottenness blended with pain: _fear_, in its purest form, in a way he had never felt before-

Slow-motioned, Tritter's grip started to get firmer.

"The way, this _sickened_ way you act is because you didn't have someone like…Like _House_ in your life."

House blinked again as Chase's unstable voice reached him.

"I beg your pardon, Doctor Chase?"

"You…You lacked a House in your life, I mean, look at you, you are insane!" the words blurted from Chase's mouth in a hurry, without pauses, and his accent turned stronger. Like his boss, the younger doctor seemed surprised with his own words, but he kept going. "You think you can change people by inflicting _pain_, you cannot, you're not God or something like that, a person like House would have _told_ you! Would have _made_ you deal with your own _**inferiority**_! Yes, House is a jerk, but living with him would have made you a MAN, not a weeping maniacal that-"

"_Enough._"

* * *

That was it.

If Foreman's words had brought Tritter's rage to surface, Chase's speech broke the thin barrier that kept it from breaking free.

The cop rose and knelt in front of Chase, holding the doctor's chin. Tritter's pupils were so narrowed that they threatened to drown into frosty blue.

"A _man_, kid?" he hissed, underlining each word with a hint of venom. "Realise my inferiority?" he clutched Chase's golden hair tightly, luminous locks firmly trapped. "You're wrong, _oh so wrong_. A man is not made of inferiorities, or superiorities. _Men, _Doctor Chase, are made of similarities, of _respect_" Tritter spat, face dangerously close to Chase's. The younger doctor trembled, and House saw nausea dominate him. "What I see in _you_, doctor, is a broken toy; you're not even a puppet like doctors Foreman, Wilson and Cuddy. You're House's ruined _plaything_."

"But you have to admit, Tritter, he is a damn _pretty_ plaything." Callong pointed, slipping from his position and kneeling next to Tritter. "I could play with him all day long. Look" he continued, rough hands touching Chase's face. "Such a soft skin…"

_Bip._

House's flattened cardiac line came suddenly alive. Adrenalin returned to his body, and with it his thigh calmed down slightly; with all his might, he focused on himself. He needed his body now, he needed the courage his words had when they refused to let Cuddy be in pain. How he _dared_, his inner self barked, how he dared talking about Chase like that, how he dared _touching _him. The younger doctor seemed paralysed, but his cerulean eyes grew wide with panic as Callong hands caressed his neck, and he frantically searched House's gaze, pleading, begging…

"Similarities, _respect…_You have learned nothing from your own words." The diagnostician said, hate filling his voice.

_Bip._

"What, Doc? Oh, cat returned you tongue?"

"No, he just doesn't like when someone plays with his toys." Callong said, lazily stroking Chase, challenging House to say the opposite. When nothing came from the doctor's mouth, he chuckled, leaving Chase and getting closer to House. "Tritter is the most important person here, but you should remember that I have powers _too_."

The maniacal side of his disorder started to reveal itself. The diagnostician wished badly he ha remained quiet as the dark-green eyes got closer and closer.

"Since Doctor Chase was obviously overruled, _I_, Callong, give you two options: my right hand" he extended his palm to House. "gives _you_, and _all _your friends,_ food, drink, _and _rest_. But, as nothing comes for free, my right hand also allows me to _play_ with your pretty toy."

_Bip._

"My left hand leaves Doctor Chase alone, gives _your friends_ food and the other stuff, but…"

_Bip_.

"…it also allows me to play with _you_, Doctor House."

House's cardiac line dropped flat again.


	7. Chapter 7

As always: my **'MANY SPECIAL THANKS' **to the perfects **SupportSeverusSnape** (I do support him, by the way), **Boys Don't** **Cry**, **Fina Simpson**, **chaoskir**, **gh2005**,** RedMist1**, **santoryuu-zoro**, **momsboys**, **Queen S of Randomness 016**, **leana9101**, an anonymous person, and dear** SJ-88**. You own me and my fic. We are entirely yours.

To **SnowFox, **well... You know. You have an infinite **'SPECIAL THANK YOU'**.

And, since the bites and the beating worked, I'll continue doing that to the ones who don't **review**! (**bad writer 2.0**)

Oh, a last warning: this chapters is heavier than the others...

* * *

House's mind went completely blank as he stared at the two hands. 

The peaceful condition of obliviation didn't last long, though. Something deadly heavy compressed his lungs as despair washed over him, and House was sure his whole body was dissolving into it. Repulsive thoughts of those hands in his skin crossed his mind, making him sick; as the view flooded trough his mind, a dizzy numbness hit him hard, freezing his brain and body. Everything went oppressively dark, and he could feel _nothing, holy SHIT, _almost _NOTHING_, both physically and psychologically. The only thing that continued alive in him was the revolted ocean of acid desperation that moved inside his stomach.

He closed his eyes tightly, blocking Callong's vision. '_And now?'_ he asked to his silent inner-self, unsuccessfully trying to regain control over his calamitous mind; '_AND NOW?_' he barked to the darkness surrounding him, panicking as he felt his throat constrict, a hint of mad desperation filling his head.

_Bip._

As a response, something inside House's chest twitched slightly. A single soft _bip _crossed his head,dissipating the thick haze of panic that was involving his brain. House's breathe eased a little. He didn't open his eyes, but the dark became faintly less oppressing. He was gradually succeeding in controlling himself when a plain mirror appeared from the depths of his mind.

Its silvery flat face was covered in dust, and long greying fissures crossed the smooth surface like fading scars, but House's reflection was still visible, though faintly distorted: a pallid, painfully damaged man looking to the glass with exhausted blue eyes, breathing with difficulty; misery filled each pore of his skin. His image tiredly raised its right hand, pressing it to the chilly surface; inside his hallucination – or was he dreaming again? - House moved closer to the silvery glass, eyeing his image's hand carefully.

Firstly, the diagnostician thought something was written in his image's palm, but a closer look showed that, in fact, something was written _on the mirror._ The single word was placed between two long fractures; House was taken aback when he realised it was his own handwriting, and the black letters were clearly written with the markers he used in his white board. His image remained still, but House traced the name written.

Chase.

But, House suddenly realised, it was not _only _Chase's name written there. The mirror's cold fissured surface was covered with black names. House's _image_ was covered with black names. His eyes searched the dusty greying fragments, and the diagnostician vaguely frowned: the dark letters adorned the fractures with lots of his distorted 'C' where the names of Cuddy, Chase and even Cameron were written; his loopy 'W' marked the mirror when Wilson's name appeared; still frowning, his fingertips touched the childish 'F' and some of the carefully-written 'Stacy'. Even his pretty 'B' was there, and his fingers unconsciously pressed the mirror with much more force, trying to reach Blythe House through that fragment. His fingertips travelled along the surface and rested on the mirror's side, leaning on a fragment with Chase's name on it. House detached the piece from the rest of the mirror.

_Bip._

With a loud cracking sound, the mirror shattered, and his image's blue eyes left him; all the fragments fell into darkness again. Only the piece in House's right hand remained.

_Bip._

The mirror's section made it all clear to him.

It answered why he couldn't totally push his duckling, Wilson or Cuddy away from his life. Also, it explained why he had never forgotten Stacy. Moreover, it elucidated _why_ he couldn't let Tritter hurt Cuddy.

House's mind raced as he felt the freezing numbness starting to wear off. That mirror proved his soul remained intact because of _those people_, he reflected. It was a pathetic thought, yes, but it made _sense_: they were the material that kept the mirror intact, they were the things that kept _himself_ from _shattering_; if something happened to one of the pieces, the whole image of House would fall apart. '_And that is why_' he frantically thought _'that is why the bastards took them'_. He felt so stupid, so _fucking damn stupid_, how hadn't he realised? Why hadn't the _fucking_ mirror come _earlier_?

And that unreal bit of glass had the answer to Callong.

They could damage his image, but House would not allow something to happen with the mirror. The blurred form of an inner Cameron appeared again, congratulating him for being so brave. Once more, he bitterly slashed that thought with fury: it was not _bravery_, it was just… self defence. Saving Chase, he was just saving his mirror, his _soul, _from shattering. His inner Wilson had the nerve to roll his eyes at the explanation, before disappearing again.

House opened his eyes again, focusing on Callong's sadistic smile. Apparently, his hallucination had not been too long, or else the bipolar teacher would have been impatient. The yellowish electric light hit his retinas; with the darkness gone, all his senses returned to him, and so did his pain, but the sensation of the mirror's piece persisted on his palm, calming him. He could _feel_ its imaginary sharp edges hurting his skin, but it didn't matter.

House could almost sense his heart and the silvery fragment being smashed as he took Callong's left hand.

* * *

"_No_." 

Chase's voice should have caught House's attention, but it did not. The older doctor's world had dimmed, and his attention was now entirely focused on Callong, whose smile got sinister as he realised what House had done. There was a sardonic sparkle of evilness into Callong's green eyes as he approached the diagnostician like a predator. Closer, closer, and something started to burn House's neck and cheeks. The mirror's fragment was gone now; House conjured a mask of stoicism for himself. His destroyed pride, his destroyed _dignity_ still tried to take control of the situation. His chest vibrated agonisingly with each systole-diastole, but House _could not_ feel his heart beating. Callong's eyes hovered over his body.

"_No."_ came Chase's voice again, somewhat stronger.

House's swallowed with difficulty, breathe quickening as Callong walked around him, hungry eyes observing a prey. All his movements were painfully leisurely, abnormally precise. In front of House, Tritter had sat on the table glass and just smiled, his foot resting on Chase's shoulder. The others seemed too shocked to make any movement. The cop's smile got bigger when the bipolar teacher stopped behind the House, close enough to let his hot breathe caress the doctor's neck. Each warm puff sent shiver of revulsion to House's stomach, making him more and more nauseated. Deliberately slowly, Callong closed the small distance between him and the doctor, allowing the tip of his lips to gently brush House's earlobe. _'Cute'_, he murmured in a low, rasping voice into the shell of the House's ear, knowing the effect the single word would have in the doctor's pride. Calloused fingers started stroking the House's cheek. In front of him, Tritter leaned carefully towards Wilson, an odd expression in his face.

"_Stop it." _Hissed Chase. With Callong gone, his courage seemed to have returned.

A gentle _tud_, and now Callong's head rested on House's shoulder.

"And why should I stop, pretty boy?" the teacher purred when he eyed Chase, lips curving when he gently nipped House's neck. "Are _you_ jealous?"

Chase watched with horror as Callong's teeth sank excruciatingly hard into the base of House's long neck, making the doctor whimper as a reflex action arched his head back, blood starting to seep through broken skin. _Fuck fuck **FUCK**, _House thought desperately, shutting his eyes tightly. Marked him, Callong had _marked _him, and the angry red marks in his neckline seemed to awake that forgotten pain in his body, his reborn heart pumping mad waves of fire through all his _god damn_ cells, _shit, shit…_ Rough lips travelled across his sore shoulders, and he could hear Cuddy shouting, but _what was she shouting_? What was that strange noise that filled his head with such intensity that his skull throbbed?

And then Callong was in front of him again, eyes shining with craziness, laughing maniacally while a rhythmic creeping sound of ripped fabric filled House's head, the noise reverberating through his entire body. A sudden coldness in his chest and back told House that his black shirt was _gone_, and the rhythmic sound suddenly made sense. The teacher had taken Tritter's knife, and the wet black strips lying on the floor, altogether with someone's hand marking in blood-red ink his sensitive skin, concentrated all the meanings of pain, despair and humiliation.

That was it, that was the end.

His breaking point.

Everything shinned briefly in a hurricane of emotions: Cuddy's eyes, black pistols and blond hair, Foreman's movements and his Mother's voice, a shattered mirror reflecting a red Corvette and Wilson's indulgent smile, his father in Tritter's face and cold ice sliding deep into him, into his _soul_…-

The doctor in him turned the cardiac monitor off.

* * *

Everything went blank again. The flaming world of pain returned, filling his eyes with red and white spots, but House couldn't think of anything else. Apart from his thigh's regular jolts of, well, something beyond pain, his brain shut down. Hands were touching his body, but he didn't care. He didn't even care when someone made him kneel in front of a horrified Chase, whose blue eyes were now bloodshoted as Cuddy's. Callong was clutching him tightly from behind, a strong arm encircling his chest; there was a strong grip in his hair, tilting his head backwards, exposing his throat. 

"Stay like that, my good Doctor. Such a fragile glass thing you are…" A husky whisper told the side of his neck. "I want your toy to see how seriously I can break you."

Palms rubbed his pale skin in a brutal caress, going lower and lower, playing with the waistband of House's jeans.

"Untouched by men." Callong murmured, kissing his way down the doctor's back. "That pretty oncologist will be so jealous…He will be so-"

"Callong, stop."

House was only vaguely aware Tritter's voice, but he _did_ notice that those violent caresses stopped. He closed his eyes again, exhausted.

"I beg your pardon, _cop_?" Dark-green eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Although I'm really enjoying seeing you playing with our Doc, you must stop it now. Doctor Wilson and I made a _deal_."

His eyelids lowered playfully as he watched the half-broken House.

"Let your crippled plaything go. There is a new oncologist toy for _us_" he emphasised the last word with amusement "to play with."


	8. Chapter 8

Firstly, I really would like to say "I'm sorry", because I should have updated before...But my stupid computer _ate_ this chapter two times, and I had to rewrite it twice...I really wanted to cry. Ok, I confess, I cried.

Secondly, to the more than perfects** Queen S of Randomness 016**, **Chaoskir** (ok, I'll stop with the bite marks, since you kindly reviewed the fic!), **leana9101**, **momsboys**, **RedMist1**, **SupportSeverusSnape**, **gh2005**, **Jansky**, **C Elise**, **AndiFO**, **Boys Don't Cry**, **You're out of your vulcan mind**, and the wonderful **SJ-88**. You own my soul, my fingers and my mind, not to mention the fic, and you know that. And I really missed **SnowFox**' s review this time...

I'm really tired now, but I'll keep beating and biting those who don't review!!! (**bad writer reloaded**)

Now for the fic.

* * *

"_What__?"_

It was not just one, but actually _two_ very different voices that asked the question. One was devastatingly unsteady, full of painful tiredness; the other was dangerously low, a thing barely above a murmur, but filled with so much anger that it seemed to fill the entire office.

Wilson's muscles got coldly rigid as he sensed Tritter getting near him, the cop's foul aura violating his personal space. _God, _he thought, breathing fast as the sight of yellowed teeth got closer and closer, whydid he have to love House that much? Something flowed up and down his back when Tritter's hand reached his hair, something that trespassed his shoulder and crawled up his face, reaching his cheekbones; it felt like a perfect liquid mixture of ice and fire, the acid liquored flames freezing and burning, freezing and, _oh God, burning…_And, the worst of it, his decision felt _acceptable_. Yes, he was still terrified, and he most surely still wanted to torture Tritter, but it felt _right_ to protect House. It was his mission, a soft whisper said in his ear, and he _would_ do it, even if it meant selling his body. But why, Wilson frowned, barely felling the cold hand petting his hair, _why_ was House looking at him with a sparkle of mad desperation in his eyes?

"Well, I'm sure you both understood what I've said, so I won't repeat it." Answered Tritter in a warm conversationally tone, as if he was talking about a present. There were hands in Wilson's neck now, fingertips tracing lazy circles in his skin, but he didn't care. He was still watching House.

"You said I could _do _this too, cop… You said I could play." Callong said between clenched teeth, clutching House tighter to him.

Even though Callong's voice reached him, Wilson could not see the bipolar teacher; his eyes were focused on House's, as he tried to comprehend what was happening with the blue pair: they were getting wider with a thing that resembled shock, and yet his pupils narrowed with something worse than desperation, something like…

_Madness_.

The blow hit Wilson with full force. House was getting _mad_; he was breaking, _oh God…_

"And you _can_ do this. But this toy you have in your hands…" The hands were inside his shirt now, caressing his shoulders in slow, balmy circular movements; he could feel the cop's forehead leaning against the back of his neck. Why was House getting mad? "…is a broken toy. I have here something _so much_ better, so much softer…He is so warm in my hands." Tritter closed his eyes, sighing contently

"Warmer" Callong's low voice changed quietly, a sick curiosity filling his new tone. His grip in House's chest slackened. "you say?"

* * *

Wilson blinked, and it must have been the longest blink in his life, because at the moment he opened his eyes, Callong was near him, rough hands brushing irregular patterns in the sides of his neck; nausea filled Wilson's stomach when the calloused fingertips brushed his lips, but his eyes remained focused on the wrecked marionette slumped on the floor that was House. The diagnostician eyes were vacant again, and he wasn't moving, _oh my fucking God, _was House even _breathing_? A sudden wetness in his throat told him Callong was _licking_ his way down Wilson's neck, but it was such a distant sensation… He could only feel House that moment, because it _hurt_ Wilson to see the older doctor so empty, so blank… 

"Enjoying the view, my dear Doctor Wilson? Callong was pretty hard on him, wasn't he?" whispered a husky voice, the tip of a nose caressing the skin above his ear. "Poor Doc…"

Wilson remained silent, but Tritter's tone and words awakened a formless feeling in his mind; it traveled along his memories, taking a more definite form as he remembered House's pain, the image of the diagnostician giving up himself to spare Chase and Cuddy thundered in his head: it was odium, an odium that grew with a astounding force, its sharp claws clutching his heart tightly as he forced himself to remain silent. Callong was now undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one, hungrily staring at him as Wilson's white chest appeared, rising and falling fast, pulsating with each heartbeat. Renewed fear began to claim him again, the liquored inferno washing through his body. But he had to do this; he _had_ to save House…

"Ah, yes, I wonder what our dear Doc will do when Callong and I _really_ hurt you… Do you think he'll scream? Personally, I believe he'll go nuts." The husky voice continued, ending in a soft chuckle as Wilson whimpered when Callong's teeth sank in his torso, bruising his soft skin. The sound reverberated on House's body like a thunder wave, and the doctor whimpered excruciatingly too; _FUCK, _a part of House –that tiny little piece that, despite everything, was still alive- thought madly, why couldn't he _move to help Wilson? _He tried, _he was FUCKING _trying, but he couldn't, he couldn't-

"Ah, Doctor Wilson, I do love having power over people…" whispered Tritter, gazing at House when his lips touched Wilson's bare shoulder.

_Bip_.

The strange _bip_ sound echoed through Wilson's mind for a second, than vanished. He didn't know where it came from, but it accelerated his heart and loosened his vocal chords, pumping rage through his arteries.

"Power, _cop?_" The oncologist spat the words, and all of a sudden his world enclosed only Tritter and himself. Everyone else disappeared, and the rough caresses of Callong were only a barely real, vague sensation. The liquored fire that once burned him came back transfigured, filling Wilson with a hate sensation he had never felt before in his life. "Power…You can't speak of what you don't know."

Tritter's yellowed smile faltered a little, only to be rapidly replaced by a hazardous grin.

"I beg your pardon, _Doctor Wilson?_" the cop whispered in a venomous voice, his cold hands stroking the oncologist's cheeks.

"I believe you understood very well. Even now, you can't speak of having power. House may be shocked, broken and immersed in pain, but you _don't have power over him._"

Wilson knew he had hit a nerve when Tritter's answer came out in a fast, exasperated tone. Strangely enough, he didn't give a damn.

"And _I _believe you should get your brain checked, you stupid puppet. _And _your eyes. Can't you see him? Can't you see the world of pain and _madness_ forming around him? And it's just the beginning, because I wonder how he'll be when we are finished with _you._"

"You are wrong, oh, _so wrong…_" Wilson had the urge to laugh, but he repressed the impulse. "Even if you rape me, this whole situation only _proves_ House has power over you… It is very simple: the truth is, you couldn't forget him. You got attracted to him and to his _actions_ just like everyone, and you really couldn't live with that-"

"I'M NOT ATRACTTED TO HIM!" Tritter shouted, griping Wilson's hair with an unnatural force. "_Normal_ people are not attracted to him, they HATE HIM!" The cop mumbled something unintelligible about his brother and destroyed lives, controlling his voice. "_**I **__hate him._"

"Yes, you do." Wilson hissed, almost wincing in pain. "And yet, you, like the others, are attracted to him. _Normal _people hate him too, but he is unique, and they are attracted to the _puzzle_ House is. Yes, everyone has the urge to solve the puzzle, but people like you want _more_. You want to be the master of the enigma, proving yourself that you are more powerful than it. You could have forgotten House when, in the real judgement, you lost, but you haven't. If your desire was just revenge, you could have just taken him to a desert alley and beaten the shit out of him, but _no_…You had to prove your supremacy. You have architected this whole thing you call _judgment_, planned each detail, and took advantaged of the empty Hospital- "

"_Took advantaged of the empty Hospital?_" the cop asked in a dangerous ironic voice, his eyes shining madly with maniacal evilness. "Are you dumber than House? Oh, did you really believe in those 'massive cleaning' bullshit?" Tritter paused, his smiling getting bigger." No, it was I, you scum, _it was_ _I who ordered this._ I have _very good_ friends, scum, if you know what I mean… A few phone calls and this Hospital was _empty_. Power, Doctor Wilson, _power._"

"Not over House. In fact, if you had to do that, it only increases the amount of power he has over you. It only shows how desperate you are to prove _yourself_ that you aren't attracted to House. But you can't. You may destroy the puzzle, but you won't master it. Even you destroy House's soul, it won't be enough; he'll be always in your mind, scornful and ironic, mocking you until-"

_Paft. _

Tritter's hand rose swiftly and descended forcefully on Wilson's face.

"UNTIL WHAT, YOU BIT OF SCUM?"

The pain made the oncologist's world turn normal again. He couldn't see Chase or Foreman, but he was able to see Callong, House and Cuddy, whose horrified face was turned to him. He noticed, body going suddenly cold, that Callong was unzipping his pants. House was still slouched on the floor, his face still a mask of blank stoicism; but something, _something_ sparckled in the diagnostician's eyes, something that filled Wilson's brain with a warm buzzing.

"UNTIL WHAT?" Tritter screamed again, the sound of his voice going high and low in Wilson's head, like a badly tuned radio. Taking the knife from the glass table, Tritter pointed it directly at Wilson's heart. His hands were shacking with fury, and the anger left bloody red marks all over his neck and the contracted face.

_Oh God, _prayed Wilson, _make it fast_.

"Listen to me, your tiny piece of _shit_; when Callong is done with you, I'll take you in front of House and I'll make _**sure**_ you scream like a _fucking damn whore!_" Tritter barked, the knife getting closer to Wilson's chest. The buzzing was still filling his head, but he heard a strange tapping noise from the outside that somewhat resembled _footsteps_. Why was he hallucinating? Why was Tritter's voice sounding so strange?

"Then I'll take you worthless _LIFE _in front of his _fucking eyes_, and I'll let him live, yes, I'll let…"

Why were Cuddy and Callong staring at the opened glass door?

"I'll let him leave with your death in his eyes, his head and-"

"Stop where you are! Police!"

_Bip._


	9. Chapter 9

As always: _my soul and my fic_ to the perfects **Boys Don't Cry**, **C Elise**, **Queen S of Randomness 016**, **leana9101**, **momsboys**, **santoryuu-zoro**, **SupportSeverusSnape**, **Any** (you're back! Don't worry, you can raise your kids), **Chaoskir** (yes, you can do that! In fact, you're more than perfect!) and my wonderful **SJ-88 **(the absolutely marvelous writer!).

As to **SnowFox**...Dearest, don't worry, even if you review only when the fic ends, I'll still be more than grateful...Your reviews are just...Wow.

Oh, and the **bad writer** is still contagious and will make Tritter beat you all if you don't review! Grrr.

Now for the fic.

* * *

It felt as if a typhoon had passed through House's mind, and it _hurt_. 

It all started when Wilson and his pact travelled along the diagnostician's head, reaching the drowned, almost disappearing House. Behind the white curtains of liquid fire and shattered mirrors, he saw an imaginary Wilson, hands in his hips, making that _dammed_ deal…A nerve jolted faintly in House's chest when he acknowledge what it meant, and he couldn't _move…_ He watched brown eyes resignedly observing him, eyes that said _'you own me __**another**__ one…'_ in a familiar tepid tone. And then Wilson's image was dragged away, captured in strong rough arms that sucked the _warm_ out of his body; Wilson was going to _die_, House panicked, wishing badly that the pain curtains weren't so _damn thick_…

And then, a _thing_ happened. _Something_, an unknown fiery feeling, moved beneath his mind's surface with surprising strength, growing fast as Wilson's voice filled his head with undistinguished words; the white curtains were fraying, the thick pain-threads dissolving into nothing as House moved towards Wilson's voice. The shattered pieces now reflected _him, _renewing his anger as he shifted hurriedly through his mind. Everything, however, was quickly blasted away as the firing sensation exploded, breaking his mind's mirrored surface, and House felt something beat again, both in his mind and chest.

_Bip._

_

* * *

_

It was like emerging from an iced lake.

He inhaled sharply as all his senses returned to him with full force, the white and red of the suffer world finally fading, but still present in the bottom of his mind; all was replaced by the yellowed lights of his office. The pain in his leg reappeared, muscles throbbing, screaming and twitching, but adrenalin lessened the worst effects of it. Hot, watery odium washed over him as he locked eyes with Wilson, his ears now filled with the infuriating noise of Tritter's voice; the cop was pointing a knife directly to the oncologist's pounding white chest. House's own voice resounded in his mind, yelling for him to _move_ and help his friend, because Tritter was going to _fucking murder_ Wilson-

It was when he was almost using the renewed control of his body to move and _**kill**_ _both_ Tritter and Callong when he heard that voice.

'_Stop where you are! Police!' _

That froze his body again, and the typhoon took control of his mind, splattering thoughts and making his head throb.

But now he was again master of his own senses and skills, and House rapidly rearranged his head. He looked upwards. To observe, as shock thundered over his own body and slipped like cold water, a stunned look adorning the faces of Callong and Tritter was almost blissful. The bipolar teacher got very pale for a moment, green eyes widening while he stood up, retrieving his hand from Wilson's zip. Tritter got pallid too, all his rage weakening in momentary disbelief, but his features were quickly rearranged in a mask of blank courtesy.

"Night, guys." The cop started in a pleasant, steady voice. "What can I do for you?"

With his heart racing madly, but with his mind firmly controlled, the diagnostician risked turning his head lightly.

His field of vision now enclosed two –only _two_?_­- _slim figures, dressed in blue. They seemed too young, certainly younger than Chase; in fact, eyeing carefully, they were, almost young enough to be House's sons. The project of man pointing a gun towards Tritter was very, very skinny, red hair falling in curly waves to his shoulders, soft milky skin accusing he was barely above the 18 year-old line; the other was taller and fatter, but his unmarked skin was so smooth, and the huge brown eyes held such a naive aura, that House betted with himself that the boy had about 23 years old, possibly even less. Ah, yes, they had guns, but the hands holding the thick metal weapons were as shaky as green leaves. Probably the first time dealing with a situation like that.

And, to make things even _worse, _House thought with bitterness blended with fear, he was not the only person to realise those things; Tritter's pleasant smile grew into a wicked smirk as he carefully moved around the glass table, walking towards the door. A sudden cage of darkened repulsiveness engulfed House as the cop passed near him, the proximity enough to make him sick; the doctor had to fight to maintain consciousness and control. Even the sound Tritter's steps sent jolts of revulsion and nausea through his soul now, and only the tiny reborn inner Wilson –or was it just pure _fear_? - kept House from attacking the pitiless cop.

Hands casually in his pockets, Tritter stared at the red-haired boy, who was obviously scared.

"So, fellow, what can I do for you?" Tritter repeated, pleased to see the boy almost shivering with terror.

"We…We are not fellows! H-hand me the prisoners!" the boy almost screamed, his entire arm shaken as Tritter approached him.

"They are not prisoners, my boy…They are hostages." Mocked the cop's sweet voice as he stepped closer.

"Come closer and I'll SHOOT you!"

The young man yelled with such fierce conviction that even Callong was taken aback. The juvenile features were now distorted with both fear and resolution, crimson fever crawling up his cheeks, mingling with locks of red hair. His arm was still shaking slightly, but his body stiffened with brave young confidence; Tritter stopped, iced eyes studying the boys and their guns with calm, almost gentle curiosity; he smiled to the younger one, the false serenity of the grin unfolding many deceitful intentions. Sweat ran down the nearly infantile neck, so thick and abundant that, even distant, House could see it, flowing like a cascade. Agonising memories of ice cubes and cold drops of freezing water flooded into House's mind, sweeping like the boy's sweat.

"You look so young, my boy…" Tritter started once again, in a quiet soothing tone.

"Hand me the HOSTAGES! Or I _will_ shoot you." An alarming tone of bravery filled the boy's voice.

With his limited field of vision, House saw Tritter's hand twitching with impatience. He could imagine the annoyance dooming the older cop's features for a moment, and that simple though filled House's mind with selvage joy.

"Ok, I got it. The hostages. I'll give them to you. I'll free them under the condition you let us" Tritter waved, indicating himself and Callong "speak with a lawyer right after you formally arrest us."

"Seems fine to me. My partner and I will go with you as you free them. Try anything, and we will shoot _both you and __**your**__ partner._"

'_Seems fine to me.'_

House almost chocked when he heard the boy's words, absolutely astounded. That boy _had_ some mental problem, the doctor thought as adrenalin raced through his every cell, some _deadly serious _mental problem; his innocence was worse, a hundred times worse than the sweetest part of a young Cameron, it reached the level of fucking _dumbness_. Nothing, absolutely _nothing_ was fine if Tritter was moving with that calm, unhurried pace towards Callong, that faint stupid smile still ornamenting his mouth and reaching even his eyes. No, everything was _far_ from being fine if Callong returned Tritter's smile, dark-green eyes shining with flaming madness, rough hands moving softly to express surrender. House wanted to scream that something was wrong, but discovered his voice had abandoned him.

_Shit._

_What was the kid **thinking**_?

* * *

The diagnostician fully expected to, at any time, see the older cop shift and, somehow, kill the two boys. The knife and their guns were on the glass table, perfectly accessible, but neither he, nor Callong, made any movement to catch them. Tranquilly, they waited until the younger cops joined them, accepting with neutral faces the guns now pointed at their hearts. As House's mind raced to catch the tiniest of their movements, the group slickly moved across the office, unchaining firstly Chase and Foreman. An unnerving fiery feeling inundated House's mind as he saw Callong's hungry hands hovering over Chase's arms before reaching the chains; murdering thoughts travelled from his brain to his hands. 

"Please wait outside. They can't harm you now." said the red-haired in an efficient tone, pride fighting hard not to appear in that young voice when Chase and Foreman, though free, stayed in their position, looking to the odd group with disbelief.

_

* * *

_

_Something_ was wrong. Something _had _to be wrong, House thought, observing Wilson buttoning his shirt as he passed through House, incredulity encrusting his features. Anything, _everything_, something was missing; the puzzle was not yet complete. Many questions revolved inside House's mind between shattered glass and aching white spots; his leg was reaching a deadly dangerous level of pain again, but right now the _question_s were far more important for the diagnostician. Tritter wasn't letting him go like this, his blurred inner-self almost barked, not after so much work, so much _planning…_What was wrong? What was he missing? If only he had his markers and his white board…

The questions deafened and almost blinded House. He couldn't hear what the young office was saying as gentle hands pushed him upwards, making him stand. White spots turned red in front of his eyes as liquored fire burned his entire right leg, but _what was he missing?_ _What?_ He walked outside his office, joining the place Chase, Wilson and all the others now stayed; his eyes, however, remained focused on the body movements of Tritter and Callong. He could look at his companions later, but what _was the_ _missing part_ of that whole story?... The young cops exited the office, guns still pointed at hearts, and were now babbling something about security and safeness. But _why_ House couldn't look at the faces of Callong and Tritter, _why __**that**__ too?_ Why couldn't he look Tritter's face? _What the FUCK was wrong?! What, what-_

_Bip._

There.

* * *

Time stopped again in House's mind. 

There it was. The arm movements of Tritter and Callong. The graceful sweeps of two different arms, mirrored movements executed with perfection.

House watched, mesmerised, as two black guns escaped the hands of the now unconscious younger officers, lazily forming twin arcs in the air and landing with a metallic _clank_ on the gloomy floor.

He never knew how his voice returned so fast to him.

"_**RUN, NOW **_"


	10. Chapter 10

At last, I'm back! I'm sorry, mey dearest readers, but now I've started university, and things got really fast, and I'm in a hurry...I don't even have time now, I'll just post this and get back to work...

But no, I won't forget about my loves **lhoma320**, **Magicdaisy**, **leana9101**, **Boys Don't Cry**, **DrHouseLuvr479** (loved all your reviews! ), **Queen S of Randomness 016**, **AndiFO**, **C Elise**, **momsboys** and my wonderful **SJ-88** (I miss you so much!).

My deep apologies for you all...And special apologies and Thank You so Damn Much to **Chaoskir**, because I couldn't fullfil your request...I'm so sorry, I love your reviews so much! Don't give up on me or the fic, please!

Now, I'm out of time, but I'll keep infecting those who don't review...

* * *

Pain exploded in front of his eyes, splashing and marking the darkness with white spots as a giant black world grew and engulfed him. 

It took several seconds to House to realize _how_ he was managing to move. He was running, yes, he was surely aware of that, since each painful step _burned,_ and_ melted_ his _fucking_ leg as they frantically dashed across the darkness. There was something else, though, some supportive force that crossed his back and kept House upwards and forced him to continue; beyond blinding pain spots and darkness, he saw the fading yellow light of his office illuminated a strand of golden hair. So it was _Chase_ the one supporting him, forcing him to move forward and escape. Trying to awake from a fear stupor while the group ran and turned corners, House's mind struggled to absorb all the things that were happening around him. The sharp _clapts_ of Cuddy's high-heel shoes echoed in a frenetic rhythm around his head while darkness grew in a heavier and almost palpable circle around them; ragged breathing –his own?- burning in chests as the disturbing noises of high-speed steps behind them, strong and reaching them, getting closer, _damn _closer…

A series of pushing movements told House they have turned another corner and, for a second, a cruel, almost inexistent pallid light struggled to appear behind the draperies, splattering across the corridor and clarifying his vision. Everything was pitiful blurred and unshaped, but he could _see_ them, his group, the worried looks on terrified faces that seemed now twenty years older. Cuddy said something in a whispered broken voice, the sound reaching the air for one second, blending with the pale light; she was so blurred he couldn't hear her… One second later, however, there was a new series of pushing movements, and all things diluted into black again as they entered a room; a wooden door closed behind them with a soft _click_.

Confused, extremely tired and filled with pain, House felt he was again reaching his breaking point as Chase supported him across the shadows. He wanted to simply lean against anything and _die_, letting his fibers finally rest in peace…His inner-self fiercely blamed Chase for carrying him, blamed Wilson for his charity, blamed _everyone _for obeying him and trying to escape, especially Wilson; his mind contorted with red shame as he admitted that, besides Chase support, it was Wilson's presence that kept him going on. _Damn Wilson._ The Corvette's key clinked inside his trousers' pockets, a tiny happy sound that resonated in a disharmonic tone in that oppressive atmosphere.

"We are in the X-Ray room…" Cuddy's voice whispered again, barely reaching House. Apparently, she had taken off her shoes, for the loud _clap_ sounds were absent now. Darkness gave him the strange impression he wasn't getting out of his place, tough he was sure they were going forward. Their bodies moved sleekly through the room, years of _living_ in that Hospital making them divert from the electronic equipment in the area. "We will get outside by the other door." Why that annoying clinking sound was still in House's mind?

"We are going to be Ok…You are going to be Ok…" mumbled a weak Australian voice near his ear. House wanted to laugh, laugh with desperation until his lounges exploded in bitter tears.

They were almost reaching the wooden door when another _click_ sound was heard behind them, followed by fast footsteps…

_The Corvette's key clinked in his pockets._

_

* * *

_

For what seemed the first time in his life, House allowed himself to act for impulse. Pain, confusion and all things got to second level as he dived his hand in the trousers' pocket, retrieving the car's key.

He never knew _how_ he managed to put the key inside Wilson's pocket in the middle of the silent pandemonium that the footsteps caused in his group. He didn't know how, but, even before the swift movements started, the key lied safely inside Wilson's pocket. And then running again, running, _**running**_reaching the _fucking door_, the corridor, a window letting cruel white light haunt and wet the corridor; his leg exploding, melting and revolting in an ocean of liquid pain while they ran, _ran_ _away_ from the footsteps; he was going to _die _before reaching the exit…And _how _he knew Wilson was close in that dark room? Was it because of the oncologist's scent? Or just because he knew Wilson would be by his side, like always?...

Then, all things vanished from his mind.

First, it was only a metallic strange noise. But it was followed by a scream.

Chase's scream.

Then it was the cold harness of the floor against his body, a huge confusion of limbs crashing against each other as House and Chase fell, both screaming in pain. Adrenalin dashed across House's body as a feverish voice inside his mind _ordered _him to _get the fuck up_, but Chase's body was unmoving, a huge dead weight on the diagnostician's legs. Distantly, he could see Cuddy paralyzed, her eyes darting from Chase and House on the floor to the corner they were supposed to turn. Wilson was there too, shocked, almost unmoving as the passed out Chase…And there was blood. Thick and fluid, the deep red wave soaked the floor around Chase's leg, escaping shiningly from a dark hole in the blonde's calf…

All things got silent to House; just a thick buzzing noise filled his brain, touchable mist obscuring his thoughts. He could see Foreman's mouth opening and closing into screams, his arms frantically moving up and down, but no sound reached House. The diagnostician could only _feel_ the things around him: Cuddy's terror and Chase's breathe against his bare chest, ragged and balmy in his skin; Foreman's desperation, Tritter and Callong getting closer and shooting, nearer, the cold bullets _missing_, but for how long? Pandemonium. Madness. His eyes locked with Wilson's.

_Run Away_. _Take the Corvette and run away. _

_Do it for me._

A brief flick of brown eyes.

And House sensed he died at the moment Wilson forcefully grabbed both Foreman and Cuddy and ran away.

* * *

He let his head rest against the welcoming coldness under him while pain attacked and surrounded his body like a thick red mist. But pain, even _pain_ didn't matter anymore. He sensed Tritter passing next to him, face shining with hot sweat as his long legs tried to catch the others, but House could really care less. He could only fell himself now: it felt strange how his heart bumped achingly against his muscles and bones, because he was _dead…_And why all his cells continued beating and aching when his body should be freezing? Was it because Chase's body remained still and warm against him, blond head accompanying the rise and fall of the diagnostician's chest? 

House closed his eyes, but even with closed eyelids, he _watched_ footsteps approaching him, now in a much calmer pace. Instinct washed over him again, and he carefully moved his arms, letting they rest in an almost –_almost­_- protective way around Chase's shoulders and head, fingertips diving into smooth fair hair. His disappearing inner-self rolled his eyes for what seemed the last time: soon he would be dead, and so would Chase, so why _care_ about the meaning of his gests or things like that now? He could really _feel_ Callong's smile as the bipolar teacher kneeled next to his head, sensed the sick pleasure that filled the corridor when Callong walked across it, the maniacal happiness infesting the air. A cold, calloused hand rested on the diagnostician shoulder.

Warm breathe caressed his ear as Callong got closer to him.

House's grip around Chase got much firmer.


End file.
